While what we read this week was definitely entertaining, it was very, very repetitive. Maybe that was because these were meant to be read as a daily thing rather than in bunches at once, which in that case, would have made them much more fun. But dreary repetition was found even in stories as simple as Obadiah Oldbuck, which eventually became the same thing over and over again.
I was thinking to myself and wondering why that was, and I think I have a solution. The concept of writing a story with pictures was so new and alien to these writers that they got caught up in the thrill of using art to show their story that they couldn’t separate the art from the words. They were so focused on making an artistic masterpiece that the storyline fell through the cracks. There was so much time spent on the art that the development was forgotten.
Look at Little Nemo. The poor kid goes through horrible nightmares again and again with practically the same result every time. But McCay, to his credit, fills the story with incredibly crafted art. My thought about the intense art and lack of story, then, is that the novelty of using pictures to tell the story got so overwhelming that the balance between telling and showing became skewed, and the focus switched from telling a detailed, developed story to simply showing it.